


Consecrated

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Series: South Downs Cottage fics [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: I burned my feet walking a mile on hot asphalt (long story), and decided to project on Crowley. This was supposed to be funny, but my hand slipped. Oops.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: South Downs Cottage fics [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960858
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	Consecrated

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of set in MostWeakHamlet's vlogger au. I really like the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley, and they're an amazing writer.

Crowley stifled the urge to scream in pain as he hop-walked home.  
"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckshitfuck, he's gonna kill me," he muttered under his breath as he carefully eased the cottage door open and ever-so-slowly closed it behind him.  
When he was sure he was alone, he threw himself on the couch and propped his aching feet on the coffee table.  
Gingerly, he inspected his sore feet. Red, angry welts dotted his soles, and he heard the faint hiss of seared flesh.  
"He's gonna murder me," he groaned, throwing his head back.  
"Who's going to murder you, dear?" he heard Aziraphale's voice call from the kitchen.  
Damn it.  
Crowley pulled his feet back from the table and quickly sat on them as Aziraphale walked into the living room.  
Aziraphale wiped his hands on his apron and walked to stand over Crowley.  
"What did you do today, my lovely fiend?" the angel asked sternly.  
"Nothing. Why would you think I did anything?" Crowley babbled, wincing at the pain of his feet being crushed under his weight.  
"Crowley, I know when you're lying to me," Aziraphale shook his head, sitting down next to the demon.  
"Would I be- ow- lying?" Crowley protested, scooting away to avoid Aziraphale's gaze.  
"Crowley, are you hurt?"  
Aziraphale was now concerned, Crowley saw, so, not good.  
"No. I'm not hurt, don't worry. Go back to your baking," he shooed, then bit his lip.  
Aziraphale sighed, and put a hand on Crowley's knee.  
"I promise you, Crowley, I won't be angry, just tell me the truth."  
Crowley looked away.  
"Promise you won't kill me," he begged tentatively.  
"Why on Earth would I kill you? Crowley, really!"  
"Because, ngh," Crowley mumbled, unfolding his legs and holding out his feet.  
Aziraphale gasped and covered his mouth with his hand.  
"Crowley!" he cried.  
"Yousaidyouwouldn'tkillme!" Crowley blurted out, stiffening.  
"I won't kill you, Crowley," Aziraphale assured him.  
"But I have to ask," he continued gently, "whyever were you on consecrated ground?"  
Crowley hung his head in shame.  
"I wanted to build tolerance," he whispered in embarrassment.  
"Speak up, my dear," Aziraphale urged.  
"I said I wanted to build tolerance!" Crowley practically shouted, fidgeting restlessly then pulling in on himself.  
Aziraphale clucked his tongue, and pulled Crowley to lean on him.  
"You purposely walked on consecrated ground because you wanted to build tolerance?"  
Crowley nodded slowly.  
"Why? Why hurt yourself? What could you even want in a Church? You weren't trying to get holy water again, were you?" Aziraphale prodded, suddenly dreadfully concerned at Crowley going after holy water again.  
"No, no, don't worry, I wasn't trying to get holy water," Crowley promised, pressing his face into Aziraphale's chest.  
"Then what-"  
"I wanted to talk to Her!" the demon cried, and promptly buried himself deeper in the folds of Aziraphale's apron to hide the tears that were beginning to leak out of his eyes.  
A tense silence hung between them as Crowley sobbed in Aziraphale's lap. The angel stroked his demon soothingly, trying to find the words to say to his distressed lover.  
"I try talking to Her s'times, but She never answers, an' I thought," he sobbed shakily, "I thought if I was in a holy place, maybe She'd listen. Then maybe I'd know it wasn't just me."  
"Oh, Crowley, my sweet, sweet, darling," Aziraphale sighed, cradling the heartbroken demon.  
"It's not you. It's never been you."  
"But I'm a demon. She casssssst me out, I wassss sssssstupid to think She'd ever listen," Crowley argued sadly, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand.  
"No," Aziraphale said firmly, taking Crowley's hand.  
"You were stupid to put yourself in danger," he admitted, "but you can never be stupid in wanting to feel heard."  
He wrapped his arms around Crowley and held him close.  
"I also want God to listen."  
"At least you know She loves you," the demon retorted bitterly.  
"No, not always. Sometimes I feel she doesn't," Aziraphale sighed, patting Crowley's head.  
"But you're an angel! She loves you! She didn't throw you out, curssssssse you to live in consssstant agony and pain," the demon hissed.  
"You were an angel once, my dearest Crowley. She loved you once, and She loves you now," Aziraphale told him.  
"How can you be ssssssso ssssssssure?" Crowley slurred.  
"Because, who couldn't love you? Who could see the wonderful things you do, the kindness in you, and not love you? You are not unloved. And if you can't be convinced that She loves you, at least know that I love you, so, so very much, and I will never, ever abandon you."  
He kissed Crowley's head, and massaged his back. They stayed like that for a few minutes until the demon shed all his tears.  
"Now," Aziraphale said once Crowley had calmed in his embrace, "let's take a look at those poor feet of yours."


End file.
